


The Sun, in labour

by Heyiya



Series: Of Trees and Kyber [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Archetypes, Character Study, F/M, Gen, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, somewhat pagan really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-17 00:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12353697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heyiya/pseuds/Heyiya
Summary: And I know you came with the travelling showAnd you started out too youngyou could follow me back where we used to meetnow hear me call from the heartoh where the dragon sleeps- Monica Heldal: Boy from the North





	The Sun, in labour

 

It's not a problem if you don't look up. It's true. How could she even try to look up? The weight of the shame crushes her face to the ground, straight into the dirt. 

 

It's not something she even thinks about. Shame is just there, a backdrop for everything. A sickly, greenish-yellow feeling, like the stench of a wump-rat's gallbladder.  
_Whatever I do, I do it to protect you._  
 Whenever she thinks of her father, it flows in, crushing her under its weight, the weight of who her father is, and what he is doing, and how in spite of that, she can't help missing him.  
She shouldn't. She shouldn't miss. She should not.  
   
The thought of her second father, Saw, just fills her with smoke. Thick, grey, toxic smoke. It sedates her, makes her limbs heavy like lead. If she dwells too long on it, she will just sit down, abandon herself on the wayside, let them take her. So she doesn't. She shouldn't dwell. She shouldn't. She was ready to fend for herself. Saw's debt to her father, whatever the nature of it, was surely paid back then. She has nothing to complain about.

  
The khyber necklace burns against her collarbone. Irritating, prodding. She has decided to trade it away many times, and narrowly changed her mind before accepting the payment just as many times. She doesn't know why. It is not like it's anything but an annoyance, a reminder of a woman who was more beautiful, more principled and more brave than Jyn. And despite of that, she is angry with that woman.  It's only fair that seeing Jyn now should disappoint that woman. Because right then, she was not a mother, was she?   
Jyn knows it isn't a fair judgment; she remembers Lyra, Mother, in the tall green grass. Not a mother then, true, and when Jyn was younger, she used to think that she was angry because Mother chose Father over her. But the memory is too clear, too merciless. Lyra was choosing only the cause, then. She was a pillar of fire. Ready to devour everything, because she knew, she knew what Galen Erso could do, if they made him. But she couldn't do the one thing she should have done, then, to be sure no one ever got Galen Erso's mind. Love stopped her.   
And then she died.

So stupid. So pointless. Because he went with them anyway. 

Not a mistake Jyn is likely to make. 

But still, she doesn't sell the khyber.

 ***

They did arrest her, in the end, and it almost felt like relief. The interior of her cell gave a nice, consistent feeling of order, of the surroundings matching her. A tiny, barred room, where no-one gets in, and no one out. No one cares to go out. 

***

  
Yavin 4.

Andor is handsome, she'll grant that. You'd be blind not to see that. Deaf too, she adds, it's in the timbre of his voice as well.   
But there is something wooden in him - both the voice and the face. The latter in half-shadow. All his movements careful, extremely premeditated, revealing nothing, containing nothing. He is closed around himself, and it bothers her when she finds out it bothers her. It shouldn't. In a certain sense it suits her just fine. But it gets to her, the way he evenly decides to trust her to keep the pistol.  She feels like the recipient of a carefully measured cup, filled just so, not a drop more or less. It irks her immeasurably. She looks at him and see dark wells in stead of eyes.  
The bloody droid shows more wit. It's barbed against her, but at least it's wit.

 

*** 

Jedha.  
There is a child screaming. The scream resonates in khyber. Hangs itself on her sternum and squeezes.   
A child should not be in the middle of war.  
"Jyn, no!"  
 She makes herself hard against the shockwave, the dirty warmth of the girl's hair tickling her nose briefly, before the mother runs to them, taking the child away. Hopefully far, far away.  
She looks back at Andor and his gaze pierces her. A flicker is mirrored in there now, and she almost turns around to see where the bonfire is at.    
There is nothing, of course.   
Cassian's face is soft.  
K2 is generally insulted. Tough shit, droid. 

 

***

 

Saw is an old, worn stormtrooper-doll. He is right; there is almost nothing left, not just of his limbs, but of Saw Guerrera himself. He is like a thing being eaten alive, slowly. From the inside.  
But he shows her a message. A message sent by Galen Erso. To her. Almost entirely to her.  
_Stardust._  
The ground quakes under her. The world shifts, veils lift. Saw regards her, full of sorrow, and the shaking ground sends her flying.   
Father, is that you? Has that always been you? Is this what we are? Is this what we always were?   
Was mother right after all?   
Jyn, says Saw, you must go. Save the rebellion.  
 The rebellion which Galen Erso, Father, chose over protecting you, because it was the only way he  _could_  protect you. Loving someone, sometimes involves becoming a stranger to them.  
Because children should not be alone in the middle of war, but they are. They are.  
He appears again, Cassian, pulling her up, struggling against the lead in her limbs. He is strong. She did not know wood could be so strong.   
The two of them run, stumbling, the two Whill-guardians and the pilot following suit.  
Saw remains, and sorrow. Sorrow is a word.  
_Save the dream._  
What dream?

They all look out the ship's window, muted by horror.   
This is what khyber does. Is this all it can do?  
K2 is on the verge of panic. Then Cassian hits the hyperdrive and his dark face is like a punch in her gut. As the vertigo hits, Jyn thinks of seeds, of growing. Rain. She has not thought of rain for sixteen years. 

 

***

 

Eadu.

 _Stardust. I have so much to tell you,_ but he doesn't. He never does and he never will.  
And it is something very different to be truly, utterly orphaned.  
"He's gone. He is gone. Come..."   
Again, Cassian fights the heaviness, chomps down on it and refuses to let go.  
Sorrow is a big word. Grief is bigger. The storm howls in her. She is a ragdoll, like Saw. Charges burst.   
He orders, coerces, physically drags her. 

"Come, now. Come!"   
Why is he even here? It is like he was sent here to keep her in check.

 

***

  
 She knows why he is a closed shell. She knows now. Those were Alliance ships. That is a sniper rifle. Sniper, never trust a sniper.    
"I didn't take the shot, did I?"  
 The ember in Captain Andor's eyes is a roaring bonfire. The outline of it is Lyra Erso. It infuriates her, just as the scent of him is making her dizzy, her rage wanting to go both ways at once. She has a drum in her chest. A big, painful drum, making her ears ring, making both their ears ring. Around them, Bodhi and the droid and the Whills are quiet. Reverent.  
"You can't talk your way around this one!"  
 "I don't have to." he hisses it between teeth, the way to the warm timbre barred behind thorns.

Then he leaves her behind, like a wayward child, preemptively shutting down anyone else on his way above deck.

She works hard to stay angry, to hate. It doesn't work.

The khyber sears. Something has been planted in her belly.   
Flame. There always was a flame.

 

***

 

"It's not right," Baze mumbles, through his teeth. "Nothing is right anymore. The world has gone mad."

He regards Chirrut, sideeyed, not fooled by the other's meditative appearance.

  "Take those two," he nods towards the rebel and the captain, the man and the woman staring each other down until Andor leaves for the cockpit, barely sparing the rest of them an icy glance.

"Your point?" It seems his companion, though blind, does not need to ask who he is talking about.

"My point? My  _point_?" Baze struggles with exasperation. "You have no eyesight, but have you gone blind, too? They should be wasting time skivving off on education. On a farm somewhere. Somehwere green. He should be diligently working on making several brats on her. Not all this..."

He gestures, then sighs, resigned, out of steam. 

 " It's something different with us. We took oaths. We're...." Looking from his own paws to Chirrut, he smiles, a crooked sad shape. "Old hands."

As always, it is difficult to tell if Chirrut is listening. But he smiles his inward smile, and Baze has known him long enough to recognise agreement when he sees it.

***

  
Yavin 4.

She thought she would have to seek Mon Mothma out and make her listen on her own.  _It is not me you need to convince_ , he'd said laconically. And she took it to mean... well, the opposite of what it turned out to mean. Because he is reporting to the leader of his Alliance now in that soft, terse way of his. Evenfooted. Hands folded behind his back. Knowing his place. Not raising his voice.    
But he is looking directly at Mon Mothma as he speaks. Urging her.    
And it seems Mon Mothma realises it. And that she has rarely experienced him doing that. She listens, very carefully. 

Jyn shuffles next to them, trying, ineffectively, to be as insignificant as possible. She is full of words, so full of words and flame waiting to come out. And of an indescribable feeling, listening to him. All these words, said for her. 

Mon Mothma seems to spot someone behind the two of them. She establishes eye contact, nods an invitation, and the tall, imposing man, so often seen deep in her counsel, joins them. 

"Captain Andor. Forgive us. But would you please relay to Senator Organa everything that you have said to me?"  
For a split second, Cassian breaks eyecontact, his face straying towards Jyn. He immediately corrects himself, but Senator Organa has noticed, lifting an eyebrow. He does not, however, say anything. But all the while, as Cassian repeats and Bail Organa listens and nods, he also studies Jyn, intently, not bothering with any pretense of discretion. She swallows, lifts her chin and stares back, as deadpan as she can manage.

The corner of Senator Organa's mouth twitches upwards. But not in an unfriendly way.  
Cassian finishes his report without outright stating any personal opinion at any point, but somehow there is no doubt what he thinks should be done next. She wishes she could do that.

"Very well. Thankyou, Captain Andor." Organa nods thoughtfully. Then he turns his full attention on Jyn, and it feels oddly similar to standing in front of the Imperial magistrate who sentenced her to imprisonment before, well, everything. "Now, Jyn Erso, daughter of Galen Erso, I would like to hear your version." He and Mon Mothma briefly exchange glances. She nods in agreement. Organa, in turn, nods at his Captain, clearly indicating his dismissal.      
For a moment, Cassian hovers, undecided, just long enough for Senator Organa's eyebrows to start wandering upwards again. Then, with a curt nod to each of his superiors, he turns and leaves. Jyn can see the tension in his shoulders, and wonders if they do too. These two people who have supposedly known him for so much longer than she.

She doesn't have opportunity to dwell on the thought. Bail Organa is there, his face betraying nothing but the quiet expectation common in people used to being obeyed as a matter of course.

Jyn swallows, again, and then she haltingly starts speaking.

It is as if a dam breaks in her. Words follow on words. The khyber feels warm against her collarbone. Conviction pounds in her veins, knowledge sits between her lungs. She hears her own voice as from the outside, or above, growing warmer, louder, more animated. She hears and sees this woman, herself, look straight up at the Senator of Alderaan, one and a half head taller than she and innumerably more powerful, and not plea for his action, but demand it. And she sees him nodding.

 And the white flame of khyber is kindled in his eyes, and in Mon Mothma's, and she realises that _they believe her._  
Later, while waiting for the Alliance council to come together, Jyn walks the halls impatiently, aimlessly. Or maybe not so aimlessly as all that.  
But Captain Andor is nowhere to be found.

***

  
The shell of a senate which no longer exists.  Almost all of them running scared. Shattering as it is, Jyn can't really blame them.   
This doesn't mean she agrees with them.

She tells them as much.

She has come too far not to. She has no time for this. Not anymore. She has wasted so much time already.  
The two leaders look as exasperated as she feels, but she cannot accuse them of not trying to throw their weight around. It just wasn't enough, this time.

She returns to the stolen freighter, and for the first time since Bail Organa asked her to tell her story, she feels utterly forlorn. The flame sputters, the lead starts to seep back into her bones.  
But it turns out Cassian has not been idle.

  
***

"Welcome home," he states _,_ and the way he looks at her is indescribable.  
 She believes him. He comes close, so close, allows her another peek at the bonfire. And it is her image, mirrored in there.

There is nothing behind her. It is not Lyra. It is the shape of herself. It's Jyn Erso. And the way she looks on his irises makes her head spin.  
 She is home. He will feed her flame from his own limbs if necessary. She both dreads and hopes that he will.  
 He is so alive. He has given her his trust and her bones are no longer lead. They are hard, pliable, elastic. 

And fury grows in her belly. Rage, sweet and tart, at those who would make themselves masters over planets and lives and of khyber itself.

Rage, and something more. Because Cassian Andor does not just mirror her. He put something there. More than his trust. Like she suddenly has khyber inside her bosom instead of on it. And a weight in her haunches, and between them. Soft and warm and wet.

She will burn bright.  
She will warm all the seeds.

She will make them grow. 

A mighty forest of hope, and the vanity of the fake, envious moon will be utterly eclipsed.

***

  
Communications react to their take off with pure incredulity.   
_"'Rogue One'? There is no Rogue One!"_

 _("Well, there is now," comments K-2SO.)_

"Rogue One, pulling away."

Bodhi Rook's voice is shaking, but his core is adamant.   
It always was adamant, and it seems to surprise him. It doesn't surprise her. Galen Erso trusted him for a reason.

She smiles.

 

***

  
Scarif.

They sent the signal out into the world. She knows neither of them will be around to see its journey. Because sometimes, loving something involves becoming a stranger to it. And in war, parents do not get to stay around to watch their children grow. 

They can only trust that the aim was true.  
"Do you think anybody's listening?" His face is open in wonder, she reads him without difficulty. The ghost of a smile belies the skepticism of the question.

He believes they are listening. But she still responds, because it feels so good to just answer him.  
"Yes. Somebody's out there."  
Yes Cassian. Somebody's listening. Listening to your voice right now.  
And after they've dragged each other into the elevator, he stops and regards her. 

He regards her.

He regards her.

 

***

 

Dawn is coming. The light is growing, the world is in colour. The sea is as blue as an eye can see. The horizon swallowed by khyber. 

He is so close. So close. She does not know where her limbs become his.  
Her arms are becoming branches, becoming light, becoming roots entangled. She wraps herself around him and the lenght of his body against hers is hard and soft, like the smoothness of a tree.

He knows that she is his, and (the revelation surprises her) he is hers. The Force is green, and them in it.  It is enough. Finally it is enough to just hold, and two drums keeping time. 

She bore him a child, its name is Hope.

And Empire is no more.

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oneshot, but thematically linked to my two other Rebelcaptain oneshots.  
> This bit is as finished as I could get it right now. There was so much. There still is. I will be forever Rebelcaptained.


End file.
